


Royal Hanky Panky

by Sea_Dukes_Assistant



Category: British Royalty RPF
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-04
Updated: 2018-12-04
Packaged: 2019-09-06 22:36:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 3,667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16841800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sea_Dukes_Assistant/pseuds/Sea_Dukes_Assistant
Summary: Collection of shit fanfic from my trash heap blog that Tumblr will eventually eat.  Not all of it is sexytimes but I've rated it as such to be safe.  All one-shots; quality varies from sober to "I was drunk off my ass when I wrote this."  No harm is intended.





	1. Chapter 1

For the most part, I am a man who makes no apologies for who he is. I never saw any point in that. But there are times, like this evening, where I realize there are things about myself I need to change. 

We’d had an argument. Over what is irrelevant, however I have a stubborn streak a mile wide and refused to let her have the last word. “Look here,” I said, “you may be used to getting your way because of who you are but you are not going to play that card with me!” I hadn’t meant for it to be an insult. She tried to keep the stiff upper lip we Brits are known for, but she couldn’t hide how upset she was. I could see it in her eyes, and it killed me. She walked off in a fury before I could say anything else.

And so here I am, unable to sleep having a mental argument with myself, feeling like the biggest git to have existed. “She can’t just go running round acting like that,” I thought, trying to rationalize my actions to myself, “she needs to realize the world doesn’t always work that way.” And then here comes the compassionate side, “Perhaps but you need to think about what you say before you mouth off. She is your wife, after all.” 

I sigh heavily. I’ve never been good at apologizing but it must be done; I can’t stand having her upset with me. I decide it wouldn’t be a great idea to go about this with exposed weaponry, so after some clumsy searching in the dark I put on a pair of skivvies and steel myself for what I’m about to do. “Come off it you git you’ve been to war surely you can apologize to your wife,” I mutter to myself. But then, war doesn’t really compare to the wrath of an angry English woman does it?

I quietly open the door that connects our bedrooms and sneak into bed beside her. She has her back to me, so I have to take a chance and hope she’s awake. 

“I’m sorry,” I whisper in her ear. To my surprise, she is awake, and she turn to face me almost instantly. Thankfully for me she doesn’t have the look of rage anymore. “I am a huge git,” I continue, “but one that loves you, and doesn’t like you being angry with him.”

“Well, as much as I might not like to admit it, you were right…and you are a git,” she replies, smiling a little. 

“So do I have my bed privileges back?”

“I suppose so,” she replies in a very regal tone, “but you still have some work to do before you’re forgiven.”

“And what does Her Royal Highness require?” I ask in my best high class Londoner accent.

She leans over to me and whispers her demands in my ear, none of which are regal in nature.

I can’t help but smile and give in to her wishes. “Oh the things I do for my country.”


	2. Chapter 2

12 months at sea. A long, rough deployment. Being shot at. Fighting the enemy as well as the ship. All that was behind me now. 

And she was on top of me. Riding me as if her life depended on it. The love of my life, the woman I had just proposed to, the one who I had pined for during the entire war, was answering my question in a way I couldn’t misunderstand.

Neither of us meant for it to escalate to this, but what had started as a kiss led the very thing that makes me a man to respond in a manner considered inappropriate considering we weren’t married. She could have pulled away. I would have accepted “not yet”. But that didn’t happen. 

“Are you sure?” I had asked.

“I’ve never been so sure of anything in my life.” 

And I was pushed down on the bed, stripped of my uniform, and mounted as if I were one of her horses. I never protested. I wanted this as much as she apparently did. I had dreamt about it in my stateroom the numerous lonely nights out to sea. Her head tilted back, her hair down, the quiet whispers of my name, her nails digging into me as I dedicated myself to pleasing her.

It pains me to admit I didn’t last long; the sight of her coupled with her magnificent knorks was too much. I made sure she’d got hers though, before I’d lost it. I tried to be quiet but it felt too good…so warm, so tight…the noises she made…how could I have held out?

“I love you,” I whispered, “I never thought of another..”

“Shh,” was her reply, pressing a finger to my lips, “I know. No matter what they said, I know.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by a photo which I unfortunately can't post here. It involved Her Majesty undressing her man with her eyes in the car while he's driving.

“No.”

“But why not though?” she pouted at me.

“Because…look. I’m not against road head but if I crash this car, I’m going to have to explain how it happened.”

Still pouting.

“Do you really want ‘Duke crashes car due to getting sucked off by the Queen’ to be in the papers? Because that’s what bloody well will happen.”

“So pull over then.”

“We’re going to a christening. I refuse to miss a ship being named. It’s a big moment in a ship’s life, and HOLY HELL WHAT THE FUCK??”

Right as I was explaining the importance of ship naming, here comes some arsehole flying down the road, and drifting into our lane, nearly clipping the car we’re in…only to come to a stop at the intersection ahead. 

“Philip,” the wife says, worried, as I put the car in park and begin unbuckling the seat belt. “Philip don’t you do it…”

I just look at her, then exit the car, walking up to the on in front of us.

“Do you bloody well mind telling me what the blue fuck you’re doing?!” I yell at the driver, who, judging by how big his eyes got, obviously did not anticipate anyone taking objection to his shit driving skills. 

“I..I’m sorry sir I didn’t…”

“Didn’t what? Didn’t see us? You’re fucking kidding me right? It’s a goddamn Rolls Royce! Your sorry arse nearly crashed INTO THE QUEEN’S CAR YOU BUMBLING IDIOT.”

At this point all the color drained from the man’s face. It was only then that I calmed down. I was still angry, but I didn’t necessarily want to drag him out of his car and smack him around anymore.

“I’m terribly sorry sir, I didn’t realize. Is there any way I can make this right sir?”

I sigh, thinking. “You got any beer?”

Somewhat surprised at my question, he answered, “Actually, I just picked up a few pints of Fuller’s London Pride…”

“Great let us have a bottle.”

“Yes sir, only it’s in the boot,” he replies, getting out of his car. He walks round to the back, and opens up the boot, and hands me a pint.

“Ta,” I say, taking the bottle from him, “now get out of here and quit driving like a goddamn maniac.”

“Yes sir, you’re welcome sir,” he says, getting on his way. I walk back to the Rolls Royce, rather content with myself, and get back in.

“Philip did you seriously harass that poor man and then demand beer? I can’t believe you…” the wife was rather irritated. Perhaps I did cross the line a bit, but the man nearly crashed into us. And even though she’s royalty, the fact remains that she is my wife first.

“I’m not going to apologize,” I say, putting the car into gear.

She just stared at me as I continued driving.

“Look you can judge all you like…all that means is I’m not sharing my pint of beer with you.”

Still more staring.

“Will you calm down?” I give her a quick glance, “…you’re making me hard,” I mutter.

“Pull over,” she says sternly.

“What? No. We are going to—”

“Philip pull the car over right now.”

I sigh and, reluctantly, pull over in a coincidentally rather secluded spot. 

“Alright,” I begin to explain as I kill the engine, “I could have done without taking some of his beer, but—”

She cut me off. “I in no way approve how you handled that situation, but the fact remains that, I hate to say, it turned me on immensely.”

“Well…I…I am kind of hard…you know, since you been staring a hole in my chest and your…your knorks are…looking very nice today,” I say matter-of-factly. I admit I was nervous, because aside from my own her temper is the only one I fear, especially when I know I’m the reason she’s not happy.

“This doesn’t change the fact that I’m upset with you,” she states, her eyes locking with mine as she unzips my trousers. 

“Yes ma'am,” I retort, winking at her.

“You can be such a little shit,” she whispers to me

And then, lips, tongue, hands. Sometimes individually, sometimes all at once. I can’t watch; much as I’d like to it’d be too much. I sigh quietly and lean my head back, trying to last as long as possible.

Fingernails lightly grazing. I feel my muscles tense up. Shit. That’s it. That’s it. I can’t stop it. White knuckle grip on the steering wheel. A noise I never knew I could make. Do I see stars? 

My wife rights herself, clears her throat, and proceeds to reapply her lipstick.

“Philip do get yourself together we have an engagement to attend.”

“Excuse me, I just had a bloody orgasm could you give me a minute?!” I asked, rather indignant. You don’t just polish a man’s sword like that and then tell him to “get himself together.” I hastily put my weaponry away and fix my uniform as best I can manage.

“We’ll be discussing this when we get home, by the way,” she tells me.

“Yeah we’ll see about that,” I reply, mildly annoyed, as I started the car back up. She may be irritated at me, but in the end I win, because even then she can’t resist me.

Also free pint of beer.


	4. Chapter 4

I had been staring at the ceiling for a while now. The wife had been stressed, and while I haven’t been exactly helpful, I didn’t think I’d been a problem either. In my defense, I had more or less been forced into a situation I didn’t think I’d ever be in; having to give up my career when I’d just been given my own command. Sleep didn’t come easily, especially not this night in which the reality of the situation had finally seemed to set in. I wanted to make amends, but words failed me, something that doesn’t happen often. 

I swallowed my pride and took a deep breath before propping myself up on my left arm

“Liz.” I prodded my wife, hoping she hadn’t fallen asleep yet. No reply, so I prodded a bit harder.

“What is it, Philip…” While not exactly a question, she didn’t seem particularly annoyed, so perhaps this would end well after all.

I paused, trying to gather my thoughts. “I realize I’ve been an arse recently and….” I swallowed hard, “I’d like to apologize.” Thought I didn’t let on that I noticed, at this point she had turned to face me. “I know my problem, well, pales in comparison to what you’re dealing with but…I’m…” another pause to swallow my emotion,”having resign from the only thing I’ve known…the only thing I loved…”

I stop, feeling her gaze burning a hole in me. 

“Oh Philip,” she sighs, “you haven’t been more of an arse than usual,” she begins, and I can’t help but smile a bit. “I didn’t expect this to be easy for you, and I know it seems, for lack of a better word, unfair to you. If I’m honest, I’m not ready for it either…but, it must be done. I’m sure you can appreciate that.”

I nod, relieved that she understands. 

“Now let’s not have anymore unpleasantness,” she says as she gets closer to me.

I take that as my cue to lie back down, and I do, content with the way this went. Judging by her cuddling up to me, I can tell she is too. 

“Your cleavage looks amazing, just so you know.”

“Go to sleep, Philip.”

“If I have to,” I sigh dramatically.


	5. Chapter 5

“Philip, what are you doing?” the wife asks me, exhaustedly as she began taking off her jewelry.

“Nesting,” I reply from under my greatcoat, “I’ve heard it’s very comforting and I’ve had a shitty day so I thought I’d try it. Surprisingly, it’s working.”

“Are you going to stay like that all night?” I can feel her cocking her hip in annoyance.

I half-heartedly glare back. “Maybe!”

I hear her sigh. 'Whatever,’ I think to myself, ‘she’s just jealous.’

She gets into bed, and I turn my head in her direction.

“That’s not to say you can’t nest with me,” I inform her, peaking over the collar of my greatcoat.

The air is silent for a few minutes, but eventually she joins me under my greatcoat nest, albeit reluctantly, and cuddles up to me.

“Why do you have to be right?” she asks.

“Hmm….because I’m Navy? Also I wanted to admire your knorks, and you were too far away,” I reply.

She playfully smacks me in the chest. “You could have just said so!” She tries to stifle a giggle.

“Nonsense. Then you wouldn’t have come into my nest, which means more work for me.”

She snickers. “You are ridiculous.”

“See, you say that,” I start as I roll over and settle over her, letting my hands wander, “until I’ve got the dry dock turning into a wet slip in anticipation of a ship mooring up.”

The reaction on her face tells me my hands have done their duty, which is convenient as by now I’ve gotten rock hard.

“So,” I lock eyes with her, “can I moor up?” 

My wife nods hastily and grips my shoulders as I slide in, nice and easy, and hold myself there until she relaxes. I kiss her deeply, and begin establishing a slow, steady rhythm, shifting the angle and speed according to the vocal response my actions elicit. It’s not long before she lets me know I’ve found that sweet spot; I can tell because her nails suddenly dig into whatever part of me she can reach. I break off our kiss so I can concentrate, not only on my actions but so I don’t finish before she does, which is difficult due not only to her noises, but also the heat bubble our activity has created within my greatcoat nest. Shortly afterwards I’m rewarded for my efforts, and my own release is soon to follow, accompanied of course by some, well, “sailor vocabulary.” 

She recovers more quickly than I do, and since I’ve all but passed out on top of her, she takes the initiative to move my greatcoat to the empty side of the bed, and I take a deep breath, partially due to relief and partially due to my exertions.


	6. Two Options

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What that scene in The Crown S1 Ep. 7 would have been like if Peter Morgan wasn't so busy conjuring up "affairs" Sir never had.

“I’ve got an appointment with my new private secretary.”

“Oh god, tell him to bugger off!”

“I can’t do that!”

She paused, as I walked past and took off my jacket, tossing it on the bed.

“And do what instead?” she asked, rather indignant.

“Two options,” I replied, turning around and, half smiling at he adjust my stance to accommodate my half-hard dick. 'Either I get some stilts so I can reach the heights of my new tall woman…”

“Or?”

“Or…she could get down on her knees.’

My wife’s face goes from stone cold emotionless to cracking a smile that, quite frankly, makes my dick twitch. A smile which she keeps up as she walks up to me, looks me in the eyes, and massages my weaponry though my trousers. I tilt my head down to kiss her, and she gladly returns the gesture, her hand’s work intensifying as our kiss does.

“You’re rather hard, dearest,” she whispers in my ear.

I try, somewhat in vain, to keep my wits about me; one of my hands gently caresses one of her perfect knorks.

“Only the best for you,” I crack a half-smile back at her, before resuming our kiss.

My wife lets this go on for only a few minutes before she does kneel, staring up at me the entire time it takes for her to unzip my trousers and removing my erect weaponry from my trousers. I gripped the footboard of the bed harder as she took me into her mouth.

I leaned my head back and reveled in the sensation. My wife is a great many things, but perfectly innocent is not one of them. She was borderline tormenting me; tongue dancing on the tip, one hand oh so delicately cupping my balls, every so often she’d take my entire length, causing a 4 letter

word to escape my lips. I truly believe if my arse wasn’t against a solid object she’d have smacked it.

My gaze returned to her ministrations, and I couldn’t help but thrust ever so gently in reciprocation what she was doing to me. I was getting close, and she knew it; my breathing quickened, my knuckles went white, and I couldn’t exactly keep quiet. It was at this point she came off me, rested my weaponry in her cleavage, and looked me dead in the soul. I made a noise of frustration I had never before made in my life.

“Do you want me to finish you?” she asked me, not meaning to coy but god damn was she toying with me.

“Bloody hell yes,” I grunted.

And finish me she did. All of it; hands, tongue, lips, all at once, by themselves. My abs tightened, my breathing quickened, my words became pure noise. A good squeeze on my balls and I was done. All I could do was stare at the ceiling and try to breathe as the essence of the British empire left me. I didn’t care if staff heard me, they could come get some too as far as I was concerned. 

My wife, however, never spilled a drop.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This one plays into #WorkingForSeaDuke and #TheDTFChronicles; "Devin" is myself, duh.

I must admit, a morning erection isn’t something I’ve had to deal with for a while; ever since my honeymoon I didn’t have inconvenience of an un-dealt-with hard-on. I don’t like it. I look over at my wife, who of course does not have to deal with this heinous interruption of perfectly good sleep, and decide that if I have to be awake, so does she. 

Thankfully she is facing me, so my endeavor will be easier to accomplish. I gently place my hand on one of her knorks, and begin caressing them, admiring their perfection and thinking such beauty ought to be illegal. After a few minutes of this, and her subconsciously trying to get away from the “disturbance,” her eyes slowly open and she sighs, except it sounds more like when I’ve put my foot in it rather than out of happiness. 

“Philip what are you doing…go to sleep.”

“I’m admiring your knorks, cabbage.”

“Philip it’s…” she glances at the clock, “I don’t even know but the sun is barely up go back to sleep.”

“I’m hard,” I inform her, continuing my knork massage. This gets a smile from her, which turns me on even more. “So I thought you might want to go for a ride.”

“It’s a bit early for that, but…” she gets real close to me and kisses me deeply, “…you have permission to come aboard.”

I waste no time, for my erection is starting to become annoying by this point. In an unusually fluid motion, I succeed in removing her knickers and getting her on her back. I must say I’m impressed with myself…proper motivation works wonders. My hand returns to her knorks, and we kiss again as I carefully slide my ship into port, waiting for her to let me know when she’s comfortable. She breaks off our kiss and nods her head at me, her hands caressing whatever part of me she can reach. 

Needing very little encouragement at this point, I set to work, starting out slow to get into a rhythm. It takes some self-control and immense concentration on my part to keep a steady pace, because it’s the pure desire to satisfy my need to get off that’s fueling this. Within a few minutes I seem to find a balance by alternating my pace, something which my wife apparently enjoys very much, judging by the verbal encouragement I’m getting. Eventually I give in and maintain a pace built by my increasing need, and the fingernails dug into my sides indicate I’m not the only one about to lose it, either.

I lower myself down onto my elbows and lock my gaze onto my wife’s face as her pleasure takes over, the volume at which my name escapes her mouth reminding anyone lurking in the hallway that my name isn’t “Johnny Foreigner.” Resting my forehead on her shoulder, I ride out my own release, which is accompanied by a few deep thrusts and unregal language. I then collapse on top of her, spent and with zero desire to ever move again.

“It’s a wonder I get anything done ‘round here,” she muses dramatically.

“I definitely don’t hear any complaints,” I snap back.

“I have one!” A familiar voice fro the hallway says.

“Bloody hell, if Devin was listening to us…” I grumble.

“I wasn’t invited,” the voice continues.

“Why. It’s like having a 5th child sometimes.”

“Oh leave him alone, Philip. Besides, you know perfectly well you wouldn’t tell him ‘no.’”

“Stop being right.”

“Nonsense I’m the Queen. One is always right.”


End file.
